


Loop is a Noun

by kenwaroo



Category: Rosencrantz & Guildenstern are Dead - Stoppard
Genre: Breaking the Fourth Wall, M/M, Opposites Attract, Talking, Time Loop, Unreliable Narrator, Victims of Circumstances, not a native speaker
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-27
Updated: 2019-10-27
Packaged: 2021-01-04 16:44:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21200870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kenwaroo/pseuds/kenwaroo
Summary: Collection of drabbles.





	Loop is a Noun

There is no one around them. Only darkness that enveloped everything in sight and weak spot of light curled up around them. Sounds of the sea disappeared, ashamed, after devastated Rosen... no, after Guildenstern's desperate speech. Time obediently freezes. Guildenstern is exhausted from realization. Death is inevitable. For everyone except actors.

Rosencrantz hesitantly claps. The Player disappears into the darkness. Silence closes in around them. Panic slowly catches up to Rosencrantz.

"That's it, then? The sun's going down. Or the earth's coming up. As the fashionable theory has it..." Rosencrantz stammers nervously, gripping Guildenstern's shoulder tightly. "That there's no difference." He looks into the darkness, trying to find answers. Or questions. Maybe, he's addressing someone directly. Someone who's watching them with great interest. "What was it all about? When did it begin?"

Silence. Long, viscous. Almost... sticky. There are no answers, there are no questions. No one is going to shout at him, "Foul! No rhetoric. One-love." Rosencrantz stands in front of Guildenstern and clings to him for all he's worth. Guildenstern stares at the thick blackness, remaining unmoved. There's quiet, almost hysterical laughter.

"We've nothing wrong! We didn't harm anyone. Did we? Tell me!"

Guildenstern shrugs, looking at him. "I can't remember. Ask them."

"No. I don't care. We've had enough. To tell you the truth, I think it's easier this way." Rosencrantz slowly pulls himself together. After all, it is easier. They have no questions, so there won't be any answers. Game is going to end without even starting.

Rosencrantz carefully unclenches his fingers and slowly moves them higher. Carefully cups Guildenstern's face in his hands. He's here. He exists. Guildenstern's skin is warm and light, thick stubble scratches his fingertips. Guildenstern's here. Beside him. "They", whoever they are, may not even exist.

"Do you remember this morning?"

"This morning?"

"Yes, this morning. Before we were sent for."

Guildenstern's eyebrows widen in surprise and he looks at Rosencrantz with genuine amazement. It's almost as if he never really saw Rosencrantz before. Guildenstern covers Rosencrantz's hands with his own. Rosencrantz exhales with relief, beaming. Like nothing ever happened.

"They don't know." Clarifies Guildenstern and smiles weakly.

"I don't think they do." Speculates Rosencrantz.

"I remember."

"What?"

Guildenstern rolls his eyes.

"This morning."

"Before we were sent for?"

"Before we were sent for."

Rosencrantz joyously laughs, kissing Guildenstern's forehead with a light heart. He frowns. Little dramatic, but he's becoming himself again. At last.

"We won't tell them." He states firmly. Rosencrantz nods enthusiastically.

"Next time."

"Well, we'll know better next time."

The world around them suddenly flashes up. Impenetrable darkness dissipates and empty (except for them, of course) deck is now illuminated by a faint light. Rosencrantz feels the rope around his neck tighten. His tied wrists ache. What for if they do not care? Guildenstern remembers. They exist. It isn't much but it's enough for him. Rosencrantz and Guildenstern or Guildenstern and Rosencrantz - is there any difference?

The Player suddenly appears:

"So, you won't tell?"

"Next time." Tells him Guildenstern.

"Next time." Repeats Rosencrantz.

"Until we meet again." Concludes the Player with a condescending smile.

The thick rope breaks their necks with a loud, horrid sound. Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are dead.

Rays of dull autumn sunlight beam through wooden window shutters.


End file.
